


To the Top

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Nuka World, abusive language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:46:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: Monsters aren't born, they're created.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cal's rise to power, and how she came to be in Nuka World.
> 
> **Cal is a raider, she's not part of the main quest line in any way

 

_Da used to read her stories when she was younger; incredible tales of men that flung lightning from the clouds and women that could change into animals and lived in the stars. Every night while Ma cooked, Callisto would curl up in Da’s lap as best she could, tall for her age, even then, and listen in awe as he brought the words on the brittle yellow pages to life. Sometimes he would teach her the sounds, show her how the letters fit together as she traced them with a fingertip, and sometimes she would just stare at the faded pictures. Later, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she’d recall every stroke, every color, and dream about living in the stars, too._

 

_But dreams were for fools and the stars were beyond her reach. Da’s stories hadn’t saved him when a gang that called themselves The Unseen came for them. Cal learned then, throat clogged with the ashes of all she’d ever known, that heroes weren’t real and the colors_ _were just a lie.The real world was painted in shades of black and red; fire and smoke and blood._

 

Cal stood rooted, wide gray eyes fixed on the burning shack, heart beating hard and loud as the shots that woke her. She didn’t want to see, but she couldn’t look away as flames raced along the blackening walls and licked at the warped sheet metal of the roof. Smoke billowed toward the sky, thick dark clouds limned in brilliant orange that drowned the stars and dimmed the moon. Ash swirled like snow in a dry wind that bathed her cheeks in waves of blistering heat, but still she couldn't move.

 

A sharp crack rang out above the dull roar of the blaze as a beam snapped in half. The whole structure shuddered, the unsupported wall now leaning at a dangerous angle, but still standing. Cal’s eyes flew to the dirt floor where her mother was sprawled, and just like that, the spell was broken.

 

An anguished scream tore from her throat as Cal darted forward, but before she could get more than a few feet, an arm snaked around her waist and yanked her from her feet.

 

“You stupid or somethin’?” a gruff voice hissed in her ear. “The fuck are you doin’?”

 

Cal kicked and scratched, but the raider only laughed as he pinned her arms against her sides. Her breath came in ragged sobs as she tried to twist free, but his grip was like iron, and after only a minute or two, she sagged in exhaustion. The raider set her back on her feet and let out a snort as he followed her gaze.

 

“Well ain’t you the little hero. There’s no savin’ her,” he chided. When Cal didn’t respond, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, eyes gleaming from heavy circles of paint as he gave her a little shake. “You hear me, girl? She’s already dead. Your pops, too.”

 

Cal’s lip quivered as her eyes filled. She wanted to call him a liar, but deep down, she already knew. She’d seen the way Ma jerked at every bullet that found it’s mark, spots of red blooming bright on the tattered flannel of her shirt, and Da hadn’t come out yet, either. It wasn’t hard to guess who those first shots she’d heard had been for.

 

“You killed them,” she managed to choke out past the tightness in her throat. Cal ducked her head, hiding her face behind long dark curls as tears rolled down her cheeks. He wouldn’t see her cry. After everything they’d taken from her, she wouldn’t give them that.

 

The raider reached up to absently touch the rifle at his back and shrugged. “That’s life, kid. Kill or be killed. Best get used to it.”

 

He turned away and let out a shrill whistle through his teeth. “Hey, Trix! What’ are we doin’?”

 

A woman with cropped red hair stepped into the flickering light cast by the fire and swept a cold look of appraisal over Cal. She looked like a mole rat, the girl thought, with small, wide-set eyes and a thin, lined face that was all angles. The resemblance only grew more pronounced when her long nose twitched into a sneer, and Cal had to bite her lip to hold in an hysterical giggle.

 

“We move out,” Rat barked, and spat on the ground. “And it’s gonna be slow goin’. That crazy bitch got Johnny good.” She held a bloody blade up in front of Cal, lips twisting into an ugly smirk when the girl gave a little gasp of recognition.

 

Ma’s cooking knife. The wooden handle still had the little scorch mark where Da left it too close to the stove.

 

“I’m of half a mind to return the favor,” the woman continued, flipping the knife idly between her fingers. She gave it one last spin, and with a flick of her wrist, drove it blade first into the dirt between them. “But I don’t think Johnny’s gonna make it, and we’re down enough hands as it is.

 

“Lance, grab the brat and get everyone together. This fuckin’ place wasn't worth the haul.” Rat gave Cal a dirty look as though that were somehow _her_ fault and stomped off.

 

“C’mon.” Lance laid a meaty hand on her shoulder and gave a little push.

 

Cal crossed her arms across her chest in an attempt at defiance, but her hunched posture and the way her hands gripped her shoulders spoiled the effect. “No.”

 

The raider cocked a brow, a slow, mocking smile spreading over his face. “You heard the boss, kid. You’re coming with us, like it or not. Whether it’s on your own two feet is up to you.”

 

Without answering, Cal turned her head so he couldn’t see the way her face crumpled, but refused to budge.

 

“Suit yourself,” Lance laughed.

 

In one fluid motion, he scooped the girl up like he would a sack of tatos and flung her over his shoulder. She beat her fists against his back, but the thick hide of his leathers deflected what little force she could muster behind her blows. Kicking also failed. He only grabbed her legs and pinned them against his side with his arm. In a last desperate bid for freedom, Cal raked her nails down the side of his face. He gave a startled yelp, but any satisfaction she felt from that small victory died when he delivered a stinging smack to her rear.

 

“Cut the shit,” he warned, tilting his head so he could regard her through narrowed eyes. “Or next time, I’ll blister your ass.”

 

Cal’s face flushed with a mix of pain and humiliation. Her parents never struck her. Her parents…. She cast one last look at the place she was born, the only home she’d ever known,  and wondered if she’d ever see it again. As she watched, the wall weakened by fire gave out, and the roof collapsed in a shower of sparks and embers. Only her mother’s legs were visible beneath the burning rubble, but it didn’t take long for the bloodied material of her pants to ignite. Covering her face with her hands, Cal hung her head, thin shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

  


* * *

  


Johnny didn’t make it, but Cal found little solace in that.

 

In the beginning, she used to dream of someone rescuing her. That was always how it went in Da’s book. She just needed to be patient. Little girls weren’t left at the mercy of their kidnappers; there was always some dashing hero come to save them from the monsters. But no one ever came.

 

She’d find out later that Da skipped a few tales, and outright rewrote a few more.

 

Trix had no patience for a girl that still clung to silly stories. Cal learned through long hours of training and cold, hungry nights. It was reinforced with bruises and beatings, and every aching breath: there were no gods or magic like the pictures in Da’s book, no place for fantasies or lofty ideals like good and evil. All that mattered was power. Caps, guns, and influence were secondary - different means to the same end, but useless in hands too weak to properly wield them.

 

There were two kinds of people - those who held the reins, and those leashed by them. It wasn’t real hard to choose which side Cal wanted to land on. Wasn’t much of a choice, really, but the act of deciding gave her back a small measure of control. She wasn’t entirely powerless after all, she’d just been relying on the wrong people - namely, everyone but her.

 

Cal never let on to the epiphany she’d reached. Rat wanted to break her will. Cal might have been naive, but she wasn’t stupid. She also had no intention of letting it happen. She kept her eyes averted, cowered when Rat expected it, bit bloody sores on the insides of her cheek to keep her mouth in check. The boss was suspicious at first, but over time, Rat began to believe her ruse, and allowed her more freedom.

 

They were little things at first, designed to test her. Rat called off her escorts and guards and let her wander the Slocum’s Joe building they used as a base. After that, Cal was allowed time to herself. Not much, but a few minutes here and there to truly be alone. At least, that’s what the boss wanted her to think. Cal suspected she was still being watched, if not by Rat, than someone she’d put up to it.

 

Rat was never the friendly type, but gradually, she softened towards the girl. Not by much, and she was still quick to respond with a blow when displeased, but she started treating Cal more like the other Unseen, and less like an unruly pup that needed to be brought to heel. Cal wasn’t sure if the change was sincere, or if it was all just part of the game, but it didn’t really matter. Her hatred for the Unseen remained unchanged. The memory of her mother’s body kept that fire burning hot.

 

It was several years before Cal was allowed on a job, but when the day finally came, she could barely contain her excitement. Rat had even given her a gun, a crude pipe pistol that had definitely seen better days, but it was a weapon, and it was _hers_ . Up until now, she’d only been permitted a gun during training, and she was watched closely the entire time it was in her hands. A silly precaution, in the teen’s opinion. Cal wasn’t dumb enough to try anything while they were _expecting_ it.

 

The job was simple: rob a caravan as it passed through their territory. There were a few mercs in addition to the traders, but the Unseen specialized in stealth and ambush. By the time anyone saw them, it would be too late to put up a fight. At least, that was the plan. No one counted on another gang showing up at the rendez-vous.

 

They were just getting into position when shots rang out. Cal froze as a bullet whizzed by, uncomfortably close, and only Rat’s hissed, “Get down, you stupid shit!” spurred her into action. She ducked behind the rusted hulk of a car, fingers clenched nervously around the grip of her gun as she tried to determine just who was shooting at them.

 

“What’s the plan, boss?” a tall, lanky man named Lurk asked from his spot behind a dumpster.

 

“We take ‘em out! This is our turf.”

 

Cal could just barely make out the curve of Lurk’s head before it disappeared as another shot pinged off the side of the dumpster. He let out a muffled curse and then Cal saw him pop up on the other side with a quick “Eyes up!” before he darted behind a brick building.

 

Turning in the direction the shot came from, Cal scanned a row of houses, eyes slightly unfocused until she caught a flicker of movement in one of the top story windows. Half of the upstairs had collapsed, but one corner was still intact, providing cover for the shooter. She caught Rat’s eye and pointed, giving the boss a grim nod when the older woman waved her forward.

 

Firing from this range wouldn’t do much but give her position away, so Cal crept closer, step by careful step, placing her toes first and then easing back onto her heel like she’d been taught.

The patter of gunfire echoed around her as she darted in and out of cover, punctuated by the odd cry or groan of pain as someone found their mark. Cal ignored them, intent on her target. It didn’t make a difference to her who killed who, so long as she didn’t end up on the casualty list. With any luck, both gangs would wipe each other out then and there. The thought brought a smirk to her lips. It wasn’t quite the revenge she wanted, but it would do.

 

Cal was so caught up in the imagined scenario, she almost didn’t see the raider hidden in the narrow alley between two dilapidated shops. He was pressed against the wall of one, his fingers clasped loosely around his gun. Their eyes met at the same time, and in some strange trick of adrenaline, time screeched to a halt.

 

He was young, no older than her, if she had to guess, wide-eyed and gangling as a radfawn. Cal’s heart hammered in her chest and blood roared in her ears as they stared at each other. The sounds of the ongoing fight faded while she became hyper aware of the minute details in front of her: the fine dusting of hair across his cheeks and upper lip, the sour tang of his sweat and the rapid pulse that thrummed at the base of his throat, the tremor in his hands as he raised his gun.

 

In a motion that was complete before she realized she’d made it, Cal brought her own pistol up, her finger tightening around the trigger without conscious thought. They both jumped at the deafening bang that followed, and Cal blinked in confusion as the kid’s gun clattered to the broken pavement. Time resumed its normal flow; everything that had been in vivid clarity was suddenly muddled and dim.

 

It didn’t seem real. One moment they were staring at each other like startled brahmin, the next, one of them was dying. The kid looked down at the blood welling between his fingers and then back up at her face like he couldn’t quite believe it, either. That expression of stunned disbelief lingered, even after his eyes dulled and his mouth went slack. Cal lost track of how long she stood there, but it was long enough for Rat and the others to finish the fight.

 

Fingers dug into her bicep like claws as the boss grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What the fuck -” Rat’s eyes widened as she caught side of the kid’s body and some of the anger drained from her features.

 

“You did good, kid,” she said gruffly, voice colored with the closest Cal had ever heard her come to approval. When the teen didn’t respond, she huffed an irritated sigh, any trace of kindness gone. “You need to pull yourself together,” she snapped. “It was him or you. Ain’t no point feelin’ bad about it - that’s just the way shit works.”

 

The boss should have saved her breath. Cal didn’t feel _bad_ , or much of anything, really, beyond a rising sense of elation. As soon as he’d pointed his gun at her, one of them was going to die. She just hadn’t expected it to be so _easy_ . A twitch of her finger and he was gone, snuffed out like the flame of a candle. Rat talked like killing took guts or skill, but that kid proved otherwise. Cal hadn’t even needed to think before pulling the trigger. If she had, it might have been _her_ laying there with that stupid look on her face.

 

_Him or you._

 

_Kill or be killed._

 

He’d wanted to live - she’d seen it in his eyes - but she’d wanted to more.That was the difference, and it was what separated the people at the top from those beneath them. _Want_.

And Cal wanted. She wanted to be at the top. Untouchable. She wanted the power, the freedom, that came with it, and people like Rat and Lance had given her the drive to claw her way up. She might never reach the stars, but she’d climb as high as she could go, and step on anyone that got in her way to get there.

 

It just so happened the boss was in her way.

 

Cal didn’t have a plan right then, but she had a goal, a direction to push for. She still dreamed of revenge against Trix and the Unseen, but it would be a hollow victory with nothing to gain. When the time came, she’d know, and only then would she act. In the meantime, Cal watched and waited, and as the months rolled by, she discovered a near limitless reserve of patience. Rat’s time would come, and with it, Cal’s chance to take back her life.

 

He called himself Slag.

 

No one knew where he came from, and in the beginning, Trix ignored him. Word was, his crew had already tangled with a few other gangs, but trying to find details was impossible. There just wasn’t anyone left to ask. By the time Rat finally decided it might be a good idea to get off her ass and do something, Slag and his crew were dug in deep at an old iron plant, and The Unseen were down by a full third.

 

Rat sent them out on recon, a few at a time, and most of them just never came back. Three managed to return, and two of them died shortly after. Cal had never seen burns like the ones they had. Deep, with the flesh peeled back, hanging in tatters like paper, and covered with a thick black tar. No one actually thought they’d pull through, but Rat was willing to waste stimpacks just to get them to talk. The stims didn’t make a difference.

 

The third... Shade never was the smartest guy around, but he’d done nothing but gibber nonsense since he came back. Something about a forge, but no matter what Rat tried, she couldn’t get anything else out of him. He didn’t make it either, but Cal suspected the boss had grown frustrated and eventually just put him out of his misery.

 

As far as she was concerned, they should have been planning some form of retaliation, but Rat wanted to negotiate. It was obvious the boss was spooked, but now wasn’t the time to cower like a whipped dog. Any trace of respect she might have ever had for the other woman turned to disgust when Rat announced a meeting, and ordered Cal to come along.  

 

They met near a Pre War military post, halfway between Saugus and the base. Cal never did find out how Trix arranged a truce, but it went about as well as she’d expected, with their supposed leader practically groveling at Slag’s feet.

 

Slag looked bored at first, his expression flat. As Trix blathered on, the set of his mouth dipped in a scowl of contempt. Cal cast a measuring look at the power armor Slag wore, the flamers his crew carried and the wild light in their eyes that said they were just waiting for the chance to use them. Trix was in way over her head, and about to drag them all down with her.

 

_Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.  It’s now or never._

 

“Change of plans,” Cal interrupted, pulling her pistol from her belt. Trix stopped sucking up long enough to pin her with a glare, and Cal only smirked back.

 

Rat’s time was up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings apply. 
> 
> I also want to give a huge thank-you to Biggreenfeet. Without her, I'm not sure this chapter ever would have been finished. So thanks! Your love for Cal was just the inspiration I needed.

They were going to die. All of them. Cal could see it in the the twitch of muscle in Slag’s jaw, the tight press of his lips. He’d been amused, at first, but that had quickly changed to boredom, and then irritation. The truth, no matter how Rat tried to pretty it up, was that the Unseen had nothing to offer, and anything Slag stood to gain, he could just take. Only a fool made deals when he’d already won. Besides, taking was half the fun.

 

Lifting her gun, Cal fired two quick shots into the other woman’s chest, mouth curling in a grin at Rat’s incredulous look of betrayal. Somehow, she hadn’t known. There’d been a knife aimed at her back since the day she taught Cal to hold one, and she’d been too trusting, too stupid, to see it.

 

From the stunned stares turned her way, so had the others. Even Slag had paused, his face lit with the first spark of interest he’d shown since this joke of a meeting began. Cal ignored him, eyes fixed on Lurk as his hand twitched toward his gun. Shaking her head in warning, Cal wagged a chiding finger, and brought her own pistol level with the man’s head.

 

“Don’t.”

 

A single word, but a wealth of promise; she’d throw every last one of them in a hole beside their former leader if that was what it took to walk away from this.

 

Rat let out a final wet gasp, her body stiffening in a shudder before going limp. Cal stepped over the fallen woman and met Slag’s eyes. There was a good chance she was still going to die, but if she did, it wouldn’t be cowering on her knees. “I ain’t gonna kiss your ass like Trix here, but if there was some kind of point to this shit, let’s get to it.”

 

Slag just stared, the only hint to his thoughts the slight flare of his nostrils. Cal held his gaze, ignoring the nervous thumping of her heart. After several long moments slipped by, his mouth split in a slow smile, revealing stained and rotten teeth. Then, without warning, his fist slammed into her mouth. “Best watch your tone with me, girl.”

 

Cal staggered, but managed to keep her feet, spitting blood and part of her front tooth on the ground as Slag continued, “Killing that snivelling bitch don’t prove shit, but you might be worth my time. Think you got what it takes to be Forged?”

 

Biting back a furious snarl, Cal wiped a trickle of blood from her chin, her eyes never leaving Slag’s gloating leer as she probed the new gap in her teeth with her tongue. He’d pay for that. One way or another, she’d get her due, but in order to collect, she had to survive. She didn’t know what to make of this forged business, and she really didn’t relish the thought of trading one boss for another, but there was only one answer that would get her out of this alive.

 

“Try me.”

 

“The trials will decide,” Slag smirked. He let out a low laugh that raised the hairs at the back of her neck and waved an armored hand at her bleeding mouth. “That was just the beginning. Move out!”

 

As Slag stomped toward Saugus, Cal felt the jab of a gun muzzle at her back, leaving her no choice but to follow. Though she was careful to keep it hidden, she was seething. Slag had presented his back without a second’s hesitation, as though she were no more threatening than a child. It was insult added to injury, but surrounded by his crew as she was, Cal hated the truth of it even more.

 

Eyes narrowed in silent defiance, Cal glanced at the Forged accompanying her, only then noticing that not all of them had followed. Before she could risk a look back to determine why, the whoosh of a flamer met her ears, followed by the agonized screams of the Unseen. Mindful of the gun at her back, Cal stopped and turned, slowly raising her hands where her guard could see them. “I wanna watch,” she explained, nodding toward the flames. “The fuckers owe me that much.”

 

The other woman grinned, something akin to madness shining in her eyes. She didn’t lower the gun, but she wasn’t shoving her forward, either. Progress, as far as Cal was concerned.

 

It wasn’t the way she’d imagined it, all those years as she drifted to sleep, but there was still something deliciously satisfying about the ones who’d burned her home and her family meeting their own ends by fire. In a perfect world, _she’d_ have been the one holding the torch, but the world was far from perfect, and this was almost as good.

 

Someone tried to run, arms flailing wildly. Lurk, she thought, judging by the figure’s height, but it was hard to tell through the flames that engulfed them. A high, thin scream, cut short as their next inhale seared the breath from their lungs, and the figure crumpled to the ground, unmoving. The rest of the Unseen were in a similar state, thick black smoke pouring from the blackened forms of their bodies.

 

Abductors...mentors….dead.

 

Without being prodded, Cal turned away, a small smile on her lips. Whatever else he might prove to be, Slag was a step up from Trix. And up, up was all that really mattered.

 

********

 

Cal was put through the trials almost immediately, and what little she remembered of them, she did her best to forget.

 

There was pain unlike any she’d ever known. Pain that made anything Trix had ever dished out seem like affectionate pats. It seared every nerve ending and seized her muscles in an iron grip. To scream was to fail, but Cal couldn’t have screamed if she’d tried. Every breath was precious when there was no guarantee she’d have the strength to pull in the next.

 

There was exhaustion so deep she ached with it, dragging heavy limbs that refused to obey. Shattered thoughts droned in her mind like bloatflies around a corpse, until she clawed at her own head, desperate for silence. Time was measured in the space between heartbeats, but eventually, it all began to blur.

 

Of course, there’d been fire, blistering heat as her skin blackened and curled, and at that point, only a frantic need had kept her from giving in and admitting failure. If she gave up now, everything she’d already endured was for nothing.  It was then, her nose filled with the stench of her own burning flesh, manic laughter welling in her throat, that she felt it: the thunderous crumbling of a wall, the silent snapping of a thread.

 

It was sundering what was and rebuilding it piece by piece into something stronger than the original ever had been. She was cleansed in flames, quenched in blood, all her weakness burned away. She was tempered steel; harder, stronger, sharper.

 

She was _Forged_.

 

Slag ordered all initiates to change their names once they passed the trials, and most of them chose the first stupid word that came to mind, only too happy to erase that last little bit of themselves. Cal put more thought into her name, unwilling to give Slag more than he was due. He’d honed her, but it was her own fortitude that allowed her to survive the process. She wouldn’t lose herself like the rest of them, and she wouldn’t forget why she was there or those who had wronged her. Every time she heard her name, she would remember.

 

 _Fury_.

 

A winged goddess of vengeance and destruction. A reminder of how far she’d come, and how far she still had to go.

 

Life under Slag was different than it had been with Trix. Once she’d proven she could handle herself, Trix had pretty much left Cal alone, so long as she pulled her weight during a job. Her new boss didn’t tolerate idleness, a policy Cal could respect. There was always work to be done, and any Forged not on patrol or hitting farms for supplies were split into teams Slag sent out to scavenge materials and tech to get the plant running again.

 

Slag was stronger than Trix -  not that it was much of a contest -  and he didn’t take any shit. Insubordination was met with swift punishment, and Cal had a brand and a few new scars to prove it. Not that it stopped her. The trick, she learned, was making sure she was worth more to Slag alive than dead. It was a thin line, but Cal made a game of balancing on the edge, seeing just how far she could push without tumbling over. Dangerous, but all the fun was in the risk. Pissing the boss off was just icing.

 

It wasn’t so bad in the beginning, if a bit boring, but Cal managed to get around that by being out as much as she could. She’d take hauling scrap and raiding farms over standing around the plant on guard duty any day, and as long as she got results - and Cal made sure she _always_ got results - no one made a fuss.

 

The boss was focused on adding to their numbers. He took anyone that might have a chance at passing the trials, and even a few that Cal knew damn well wouldn’t, just for the entertainment of watching them fail. That worked fine until he managed to convince some Gunners to join up. The rest of the mercs weren’t real happy about that, but it brought about some much needed excitement; it wasn’t every day the Forged had a _real_ fight on their hands. The Gunners must not have shared the sentiment, because they only clashed with them a month or so before they sent some bigshot to work out a truce.

 

To her surprise, Slag let them negotiate.

 

Cal was on guard duty when the Gunners came, strolling in like they owned the place. As much as she wanted to remind them who was in charge, it wasn’t her, and the boss had made it clear they were doing this his way. Thanks to her mouth, Cal wasn’t even allowed at the discussion. She was stuck watching the door like some fucking dog.

 

“The hell are they so smug about?” Cal wondered beneath her breath.

 

Char, her partner, and the only other Forged that managed to piss Slag off as much as she did, turned and spit over the rail of the catwalk. “Dunno, but the boss’ll sort ‘em out.”

 

“You think?”

 

“You don’t?”

 

Cal shook her head. It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned one of Slag’s calls. The boss seemed to make decisions on a whim, no rhyme or reason to them. He’d send a crew out to raid for food, and then order them to burn the farm to the ground. Highly effective, as far as scare tactics went, but not real fucking smart in the long run. Cal loved the weight of a flamer in her hands as much as the next girl, but a little fun now wasn’t worth starving for later. Fire was supposed be what strengthened them, but if Slag wasn’t careful, they’d just end up burning like everyone else. 

 

“I think this is gonna bite ‘im in the ass,” she admitted quietly.

 

Glancing behind him to make sure they weren’t heard, Char let out a nervous chuckle and ran a grimy hand through his dark crop of hair, making the short ends stick up in different directions. “Don’t let _him_ hear you say that.” He was quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the grip of his rifle, and then shot her a questioning look. “Well, what would you do?”

 

“Take care of the fuckin’ problem,” Cal snorted. “Now, while it’s an easy fix. I sure as shit wouldn’t give ‘em time to build back up and come at us later.”

 

“They won’t,” Char insisted, but he looked troubled. “Not if there’s a truce.”

 

Hefting her rifle against her shoulder, Cal cocked her hip against the railing and rolled her eyes. “Truces can be broken, dumbass. Besides, no one tries to negotiate unless they’ve already lost. You know it, and I know it. This is a fuckin’ bad idea.”

 

“Ain’t up to us,” Char reminded with a shrug. “And it’s only temporary. Boss said everything’ll be different once we get the forge going. No one’ll even try to cross us then. The whole Commonwealth’ll be ours.”

 

 _We’ll see,_ she thought with a grimace.

 

Aloud, Cal hummed an agreement, not wanting to argue. Char was dumb as a brick, but he was good company and loyal as hell. She wanted to keep him that way - just in case.

 

Besides, maybe he was right, for once. Maybe the boss really was just stalling to keep the mercs from getting wind of his bigger plans.

 

And maybe brahmin would sprout wings and take flight like those horses in Da’s old stories. Anything was possible. Not fucking likely, but possible.

 

 

******

 

 

Slag only got worse when they finally got the forge running. Months of work, for no real purpose. It was impressive as hell, and recruits were pouring in, thanks to that shit with the Gunners, but there was no point to the round the clock work and constant shipments of scrap metal needed to keep it fed. Slag had the makings of an army, the power to do whatever he wanted. They could conquer the whole fucking Commonwealth like they planned if he just said the word. Instead, he had them tending a vat of molten metal like it was some snot-nosed brat. The Boss was obsessed with the damn thing, and it wasn’t long before some of the others started getting that same crazy light in their eyes.

 

Cal kept her mouth shut, even if she had to literally bite her tongue to do so. Slag wasn’t very consistent about punishments anymore. An offense that would normally result in a brand or a beating could end up costing a limb or worse if he was in the wrong mood, and his moods could change in an instant. It didn’t even matter how good they were at their job anymore. The boss looked at ‘em like they were _all_ expendable now.

 

The shipments of scrap from Dunwich were late again, and the time for games was over. Cal wouldn’t put it past Slag to start tossing them in just to keep the fires fed, so she kept her head down and waited.

 

For what, she didn’t know.

 

The idea of getting rid of Slag had a certain amount of appeal. A base, a crew, and the rep to go with it, all just there for the taking.  She’d need support - the boss wasn’t an easy target - and while she was confident she could sway some of them to her side, her odds would have been better _before_ Slag turned the majority of the Forged into a cult of fire-worshipping fanatics. It was something to keep in mind, but not a plan she was willing to rush into, or one that was even necessary just yet. Taking Slag’s place would be a leg up, sure, but she was capable of making her own way if she had to.

 

When Slag sentenced a corpse to be fed to the forge - for _dying_ , of all things - Cal started plotting in earnest. To hell with trying to take over. Now, she just wanted out, and most of the Forged were fucking useless, anyway.

 

Slag didn’t see how bad things had become. He wouldn’t admit it, but the forge was making them sick. Had to be; the bouts of fever, chills, and cough hadn’t started until they lit the damn thing. Privately, Cal wondered if it was making them all crazy, too. She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to find out.

 

Slag was the first, but it wasn’t long before some of the others started acting weird.

 

Damage was the next to lose it. Mean sonofabitch, even by Cal’s standards, and the only thing he loved more than a fight was running his mouth. Until Slag put him on forge watch. A couple weeks of that, and Damage got quiet. Stopped talking to the others. She’d hear him now and then, muttering nonsense to himself, eyes darting like a cornered cat, until Slag got fed up and sent him out on a raid. He never came back -  at least, not on his own.

 

Cal had been there when he completed his trials, and she’d been part of the team the boss sent to round him up after he ran from a bunch of farmers.  Hard to believe it was even the same guy. They’d found him cowering in the corner of some shack, clawing his arms bloody. He didn’t fight when they brought him back, just whined and cringed like a fucking kid. It didn’t make any sense.

 

That was months ago, and it was starting to affect them all in some way or other. Char had taken to fits of near hysterical laughter. He could barely hold his gun straight, and Cal was pretty sure she’d seen him pissing blood the other day while they were out on patrol. Her own hands had started to shake, no matter how tightly she clenched her fists, and it was getting harder to think, like there was a slow fog filling her head and muddling her thoughts. How long did she have before she was nothing but a babbling mess?

 

 _Ain’t gonna happen_ , Cal swore silently. _No fuckin’ way_.

 

She needed to get the fuck out, and it needed to be _now_.

 

‘Now’ turned into days and then weeks. Sneaking away just wasn’t possible. Paranoid as he’d become, Slag was always watching, and if he wasn’t, Cal was sure _someone_ was. The extra rations he handed out for reporting traitors saw to that. There had to be another way. If she could just think….

 

Fuck, when was the last time she’d slept?

 

Exhaling a heavy sigh, Cal set the rifle she’d been cleaning aside and dug her shaking fingers into her temples, trying in vain to ease the throbbing behind her eyes. The headaches, like the tremors, were near constant, the pain and pressure building until the slightest sound felt like a spike being driven through her skull.

 

Across from her, Char hummed tunelessly as he stared down at the crate Cal was using as a table. His weapon lay in his lap, forgotten when a splinter of wood caught his interest. Cal grit her teeth and took a deep breath as he picked at the crate, punctuating his droning with the sharp scrape of his nails. When Char shifted for a closer look, his gun clattered to the steel grate beneath them and Cal couldn’t take anymore. With a flash of metal, she drew the knife from her boot and jammed the blade into the top of the crate, an inch from Char’s hand.

 

She honestly couldn’t say whether the miss had been intentional or not.

 

Leaning over, she yanked the hood back from his face so she could meet his startled gaze and hissed, “If you don’t knock that shit off, the only noise you’re gonna be makin’ is from the fuckin’ hole in your throat!”

 

Char stared at her with bloodshot eyes so wide she might have laughed any other time. As it was, her head was pounding so hard her vision swam and she had to swallow against a wave of nausea. Cal rubbed a weary hand over her eyes when Char blinked in confusion, feeling something suspiciously close to guilt tighten her chest.

 

“Ain’t even worth it,” she sighed. “Just keep it quiet, yeah?”

 

A few tense moments of silence passed, and then Char dipped his head in a slow nod. “Keep it quiet.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Pressing a finger to her lips, Char made a soft shushing sound and gave another sage nod. “Keep it quiet. Cut off the ears and burn out the eyes.”

 

With an irritated slap at his hand, Cal sat back down, tilting her head back against the wall and closing her eyes against the light of the forge below. It wasn't the first time he'd gone on like this, but it seemed like he was getting worse. Right then, she didn't have the patience to try and decipher his cryptic bullshit. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” she asked wearily, opening her eyes. 

 

“The eyes are everywhere,” Char shrugged, as though his meaning was obvious. His gaze sharpened and he shifted closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Burn them out and they can’t see. Cut off the ears and they can’t hear. Keep it quiet. Keep it _safe_.”

 

Cal sat up, studying the man in front of her with growing suspicion. As tempting as it was to brush off his words as raving gibberish, Char was calmer than he’d been in weeks. There was a clarity in his eyes that had been missing as he regarded her, the hint of a smile playing about his lips.

 

“What do you know?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. If he had any idea of her plans…. Cal glanced down at the glow of the forge shining through the slats of the catwalk. She doubted anyone would listen to him, but one fall, one _accident_ , and she could be sure of it.

 

A high pitched giggle drew her attention back to Char. “No, no, no,” he gasped through his laughter, frantically shaking his head. “Keep it quiet. No eyes, no ears.”

 

Relaxing, Cal brushed a dark strand of sweat-soaked hair from her eyes, the beginnings of a plan - a _real_ plan - forming in her mind. “You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that? But you might be onto somethin’.”

 

She couldn't get away alone, but Slag still sent teams out to raid or scav. All she had to do was get on one and make sure no one came back.

 

No eyes, no ears, no one to sell her out.

 

She’d be free.


End file.
